Why Kids Suck

Okay, let me preface this by saying I love kids, which might seem totally at odds with the title of this post. What I mean is, having kids sucks. Kids, themselves, the actual human units known as “children,” are pretty great. They’re cute and they say stupid hilarious things and they’re more honest than any adults I’ve ever met (for better or worse).

BUT. But but but but but. Kids who aren’t just human units and happen to be your human units, whole people for whose lives you are entirely responsible, suck. And I know that they are miracles, and they allegedly turn one into a giant love-machine, and “you don’t even know yourself until you have a child,” and blah blah blah.

That’s all great, but I would rather just not know myself if I have to have a child to do it. For people who want kids, that’s great. But for people who don’t, child-havers, please stop judging us as sub-par humans ’cause we’re just not into it. There are plenty of reasons to have a kid, apparently (I’m pretty sure I’m missing any and all maternal/desire-to-carry-on-the-human-race genes), but all I see are reasons to not have a kid. Such as:

  1. They are a 24/7 job. You can’t just shove them away and say, “Well, fuuuuuck this! I’ve had enough of screaming and puking and pooping, and I just want to relax.” You can’t just not take them to school, and listen to their horrible teenage attitudes, and suffer through their ridiculous girlfriend/boyfriend choices. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, you are saddled with responsibility that you can never, ever shake, unless Child Protective Services gets involved.
  2. They are expeeeeensive. Money money monn-ay…all gone.
  3. They ruin your body. (Men, fuck you.) They rip up your lady parts, make your flat stomach scarred and saggy, drag your boobs to the floor (haha I typo’d that as “boops” at first…can that be new slang?), etc. You can always tell a mom from a non-mom unless they had that sucker when they were 15 and bounced back like a rubber band.
  4. They never care about you as much as you care about them. Sure, they love you as much, but they don’t worry about you every second of every day and think about your well-being all the time and how their everylittledecision might affect you. That kind of sounds like having a boyfriend who’s just not that into you, except you can never break up.
  5. If you fuck them up, you fuck. Them. Up. They will be in therapy forever, crying into a couch cushion, just because you scared them with a Bobo doll or had a fight in front of them. They’re like little sponges that you have to squeeze ever-so-gently, or you’ll leave them dried up and bent out of shape forever. (Damn, I’m proud of that analogy.)

And those are just the negative reasons! The positive reasons go on and on and on:

  1. Hot young body for years longer!
  2. Tons of extra money to spend on yourself! Trips, clothes, wine, cars, trips!
  3. No one to look after–more alone time!
  4. More sex!
  5. More drinking!
  6. More motivation to take up a cool hobby when you’re older–salsa dancing? Pottery? Windsurfing?
  7. More of ANY-FUCKING-THING YOU WANT, BECAUSE IT’S ALL ABOUT YOU!

That’s the general idea, you see. The all time, number-one reason I don’t want kids is because I am selfish. To have a child, you give up a huge part of yourself, a huge piece of your life, and a world of possibility you might never get back. It’s the most selfless thing you could ever do…and, ladies and gentleman, I applaud you. And I’ll keep on applauding you when I’m 35, sitting in a comfy living room painting my nails and admiring my new expensive clothes, with not a binky or a bottle in sight. Cheers!

Lolita

When you hear the word “Lolita,” you probably think one of these things:

  • Oh, the book written by Vladimir Nabokov.
  • Oh, the movie by Stanley Kubrick.
  • Oh, the girl’s name.
  • Oh my, I have no idea what this person is talking about. I’m going to pretend I got a text.

When I hear Lolita, I instantly think of boots with lacy ankle socks. Say what you will about the supremely creepy Humbert Humbert, but Lolita herself had some style. Red heart-shaped sunglasses? Adorable socks? Little dresses? I never saw the film, but H. H. here goes into ridiculous detail over what his stepdaughter/mini girlfriend wears in the book. And she might be twelve, but girlfriend knows how to put together an ensemble.

So I say, take some style cues from Dolores “Lolita” Haze. Who cares if you’re twelve or twenty, this smashing style can work for anyone!

However, I am so not talking about that weird Asian lollicon nonsense. I know that in Japan they have a whole “Lolita style” thing going on, but it’s so bastardized that I like to pretend it doesn’t exist–if you read the book, Lolita is not a 19th century ten-year-old who wears giant poofy dresses and carries a parasol. She is your average skinny little girl who runs around in regular kid clothes and has a really good tan, according to Humbert Humbert’s creepy moaning over her.

So how can I dress like a twelve-year-old so that creepy old men get sprung over me, you ask? Why, it’s simple! To add an edge of Lolita sexiness without looking like a weird cosplaying Asian  one of those people who sleeps in a crib after they get home from practicing law wanna-be kid, the key is to keep your outfit mostly age-appropriate and then mix in some innocently sexy pieces.

Think a cute dress you’d wear normally, with my Lolita favorite: ankle socks with heeled booties. Or an oversized sweater over a short, flippy skirt. Or, you know, you could just walk around dressed in too-small clothes and suck on a lollipop and see how that works out for you.